Saturday, March 4, 2017

TO-DAY, a poem

WHERE hast thou gone, my Day?
     I meant to follow,
Extracting from thine every hour its sweet;
     But thou, beguiling hope with pledges hollow,
Art flown on wingèd feet.

Hardly I greet thy morn,
     The glory dwindles;
And as I plan thy moments with delight,
     The evening-primrose in my pathway kindles
Her taper for the night.

Ah, too precipitate!
     Might I not linger
To gather a stray blossom by the way,
     But pointing onward with thy warning finger,
Thou must outstrip me, Day?

Gladly I welcomed thee,
     An eager lover
Who deemed he knew each fleeting moment's cost,
     Is there no way, no method, to recover
The treasure I have lost?

Ah, no! From Time, alas!
     One may not borrow;
Nor move him what is squandered to restore.
     The tide flows back, and there may dawn a morrow.
     Thee I shall find no more.
"To-day" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Harper's Monthly Magazine (March 1906), Lyrics of Life (1909) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

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